


The Belle and the Butterfly

by AvaCelt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Gen, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma was most certainly not a Storybrooke native. But that doesn’t stop Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Belle and the Butterfly

Belle cleans the little place every Monday and Friday. Once for the week, once for the weekend, always there by ten in the morning. The owners don’t mind the choice in dates, and pay her dutifully. One of the owner’s son, who visits the apartment rather than living there, comes by every Monday and Friday with a lunchbox with two sandwiches instead of one. They share it at the small, wooden table in the kitchen by the faint, afternoon light.

It’s a quaint understanding between the two. His mother, le Mayor, doesn’t like him consorting with the lower trenches of Storybrooke, much less at the home of his biological mother, so he keeps mum. Her father has told her multiple times to give up the cleaning lady business and finish her second year at the community college, but they both knew that the idea was out of their financial ballpark. So the two, the ten year old and the twenty year old, find thirty minutes twice a week to revel in their latest hardships, do some math homework, and nibble on cheese sandwiches. Sometimes, she brings some fruits, and they share an orange and a banana with some vanilla ice cream the little boy pulls out of the refrigerator. Before the clock strikes eleven forty-five, she packs the boy’s box with some homemade roasted peanuts and shuffles him out of the apartment and back to school. She works until one. She’s gone before either owner get home.

She’s never met the little boy’s mother. His teacher is her chief employer, so she sees her regularly, twice a month. A simple and kindly woman, they get along famously. But it always reverts back to the second owner of the hovel, at which her employer would constantly gush about and compliment and rant but love nonetheless. At first, she wonders if there’s a relationship between the two. A sweet understanding that only two lovers could possibly have. Like in the storybooks and fairy tales she likes to indulge herself in.

But the other woman breaks into peals of laughter, a sweet music to her ears because laughter has always made her feel better. No, she says, and she feels a little dumb for asking something so personal. But the young woman notices the hesitancy and urges her to relax. We’re best friends, she ends up confiding. Though they’ve only met less than a year ago, they became friends, the two current owners. And now they’re practically inseperable, and have dubbed themselves heterosexual life partners until one of them got hitched. Her chief employer blushes then. She tells her it might be soon. There’s a wonderful man at the pet shelter who makes her heart flutter that might do the honors. But even then, she admits, the bond between her and the other owner will never shake.

She realizes that she’s jealous. The only true connections she’s ever made in her life have been with a few kittens and the ten year old boy. She has acquaintances and a suitor. But no real friends. Nothing to do with her being poor, since most of them are in the same rut she’s in. But because she was simply… Belle. A simpleton to most, because she likes to tidy things up and cook and and make tea. She likes to read to kids and help the ill. She works menial jobs, as a cleaning lady to three apartments for now, and earns her keep, never worrying her father who thinks his little girl might starve. She has a penchant for being extremely clumsy but never on the job, though. But outdoors, she could trip on air and it would be her fault. It usually is.

So the thought of an outsider, because everyone knew the new cop at the station was most certainly  _not_  a Storybrooke native, picking up Storybrooke hearts in a matter of months is disconcerting. And a little shifty, she thinks, since it took her two years to bond with the little boy because she used to work as a janitor at his school before her current position. But she cleans the place every Monday and Friday anyway, because she can’t hold grudges for her life. For someone she’s never met, she thinks that perhaps it’s better that way. A street cop with a disgusting attitude- so say the neighbors -is someone Belle cannot fathom to go up against in a staring contest. Or even in a food contest. Maybe a clumsiness contest, but every other contest goes down the drain. Perhaps in a beauty contest, for her acquaintances and suitor always tell her she’s quite beautiful, but even that seems unlikely. What’s a small town girl’s proposed beauty against a female cop with the guts to go against the devious Madame Mayor herself?

Like always, she shrugs it off and goes on with her work. When she leaves, she always turns back. There’s not one photograph of the woman on any of the walls or dresser, and she’s never mussed up the courage to go snooping around.

***

So when they meet for the very first time when Henry and Belle take their relationship to the proverbial next level and go out for pizza and ice cream, it’s no surprise that the air and the sidewalk double whammy her once more and she goes tumbling downwards.

But her knees don’t hit the pavement this time because strong arms have a grip on her waist. She’s glad she handed Henry the purse beforehand. Her items lie safely with him, but her shoe is a different story. She stutters a thank-you, and looks down at the damage. A broken heel on the blue shoe, and she’d brought it just yesterday. She’ll have to detour to the thrift store to get flip flops before dropping the boy off and going home.

Because it isn’t till Henry yells “Emma!” that Belle realizes that Madame Mayor’s greatest enemy, her employer’s best friend, and her confidant’s mother is her savior from the evil-sidewalk-that-be. When her gaze turns to the taller woman, her eyes seem to enlarge a tad bit more than their usual side.

Her hair is as bright as straw spun from gold. That’s the first thing she notices. Then, as reality kicks in and Henry’s hugging the woman and gibbering about the pizza and the ice cream and maybe her, she begins to really  _see_  the cop from Boston.

A jacket a dark red, almost inviting her fingers to touch it. Jeans that would make her hide underneath her bed, and a figure to put the masses to shame. Perhaps the most beautiful woman she’d ever ever seen.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you OK?”

She blinks.

“Her name’s Belle, Emma. She’s the lady I was telling you about!” She hears Henry’s excited voice exclaim. She finds a moment to blush.

“Really? How about we go for more ice cream then?” The cop tells her son. She turns to Belle, and the red creeping on her face is mos certainly  _not_  the rouge she purchased last week. The woman turns to Belle. “As an apology for not saying hi to your friend here.” Belle forgets there’s ever any rouge to begin with. The woman has her hand out.

“Emma Swan. Thanks for keeping him company.”

Her hand manages to work. “Belle Lacewing.”

Emma quirks an eyebrow and chuckles. “Belle the butterfly?”

Her voice hitches in her throat. No one gets the reference. Gaston isn’t really into butterflies, and her father doesn’t mention the awkwardness permeating from the surname.

She nods. “The butterfly.”

And then Henry gasps. “Belle! Your shoe!”

She looks down and once again stares at her misfortune. The thought of ice cream with the two flutters away and she’s left to deal with a broken heel.

“I have flip flops in the car.”

Her head shoots up. “Huh?” It’s unlady-like, but the woman acts like she doesn’t notice and runs off.

And it’s just Henry and her for the time being.

He chuckles and nods approvingly. “My mom.”

Belle blinks. “Your biological mom.”

“One of my best friends.” He adds.

“She seems wonderful.” She finishes.

They both agree with an extra nod.

“How about your other mom?”

“They’ll warm up to each other eventually.” He speaks confidently.

They nod once more. By the time the cop returns, the sun begins to set. Belle kicks off the heels and slips into worn flip flips.

“Let’s do a late dinner and a movie.” The leather-sporting woman suggests.

“We just had pizza,” Henry whines.

“Then let’s have steak.” Belle pitches in.

Mother and son both quirk their eyebrows. Steak isn’t too hot in this part of Storybrooke. Maybe on the other side.

“I just bought some yesterday. My father is on night duty. You’re welcome to stay for a while.”

And then there’s an agreement, some handshaking, and once they start walking towards Emma’s buggy, Belle realizes she’s sprained her ankle in the slip. So the blonde haired asks politely if she’d like for her to carry her. Any sane native of Storybrooke would have declined and sucked up the ringing pain.

But Belle is no simpleton, and the cop woman had the guts to make the Mayor bear arms. She accepts.

She should feel flustered, but the scene seems all too… familiar. Henry carries her bag dutifully, trailing ahead of them. The woman’s arms are gentle, fleeting. The rippling muscles underneath her jacket press against her person, and the blush returns. But she feels warm- safe.

Once they’re all in the car and Henry’s spouting directions towards her small house- because the young man was most certainly  _not_  an idiot and did his research before befriending her- that Belle realizes that the scene is all too familiar. Because she swore she’d witnessed it elsewhere.

A few months later,when Belle first kisses the older woman by the wishing well and she reciprocates by sweeping her off her feet, is when she realizes that yes. Definitely. She’s living a fairy tale.

Later on, Henry would tell her to relax and that he and Paige had this all under control and that the plane ride to New York was only an hour long. Apparently, Paige’s father, town’s ravishing number one bachelor and chief architect, would be more than glad to lend them his cabin at Lake George if only they promised that he’d be doing their makeup at the ceremony. And of course, Paige would be the flowergirl. And Mary Margaret decided she wanted to do the dresses, and David had an idea that he could handle the catering. And Mr. Gold’s son, Bae, wanted a part as well because Belle was his favorite storyteller in the days that he had spent in the hospital.

But all that baffled the two women since the farthest they went with their future was where they would have their next, stolen kiss.

~~Of which there were many, by the way.~~


End file.
